What if? Philip Durrant
by theearth
Summary: A time travel story, losely based on "Ordeal by Innocence" by A.Christie resp. the film with Richard Armitage as P.Durrant. I highly recommend watching the film or reading the book before. Philip is a bitter paraplegic, thinking his life is over.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The alcohol didn't help any more; all it did was make him sleepy and numb, but it had ceased giving consolation and long lost its taste. Philip didn't even feel strong enough to hurl the glass against the wall, which would have been too dramatic anyway, and besides, there was no one there he could piss up with that. He had never thought he would miss Mary at all. Of course she wouldn't _really_ have gotten angry. She would have looked at him reproachfully and then cleared away the whiskey and the broken glass with a huge fuss. There would have been this pity in her eyes he had always resented… _poor Philip, he is an invalid, he probably can't help it. _That had been worse than a fit of rage. Was he even a human being to her, rather than an "it" to be fussed over? Sometimes he had succeeded in tearing her out of her indifference for a moment, to irritate and provoke her, and then he had felt almost alive – yet only almost. And now he missed her…_almost._

He had never really belonged to the family, and Philip knew they were blaming him for the whole incident. Incident – how harmless that sounded. It meant his wife's death. If only he hadn't been so curious, then… Curious! Sure, one could call it that. HE had realized that none of the others had the slightest interest in finding out the real murderer. Mary had not even understood at first that everyone was a suspect. Her imagination had never been sufficient for picturing things like that – and imagination was one of the few things left to Philip.

Mary had surely loved him in her way, but she had never wanted to understand how much he resented being treated like helpless cripple. She had wanted to protect him, which had eventually cost her her life. Everything had happened so fast; he still didn't grasped how it had happened. Philip had been sitting in the semi-darkness of the library with a glass of whiskey as he had done so often. It had become one of his habits, which Mary had hated. He had _almost_ admired her for her way of expressing her resentment; she never openly complained to him but only brought him a cup of tea and put away the whiskey. The semi-obscurity was the best atmosphere for thinking, and it heightened is senses as he sat there sipping his whiskey, which tasted a lot different than usually. Also, the lack of bright light was merciful on him for it neither brought his own wheelchair-bound reflection back to him, nor did it show the pity in Mary's eyes and the rejection in the others'.

Strangely enough he had never thought himself in danger, even when he was almost positive that Kirsten had committed the murder. Funny, for why should she hesitate to get rid of him when she had never liked him anyway? He had never told Mary of his suspicions; it had been an accident that she was in the library at that time. Kirsten had not noticed her, and upon her raising the knife, Mary had started screaming and thrown herself in front of him. Had she even known what she was doing? Probably not. Like a maniac, Kirsten had stabbed at her, again and again; Mary had had no chance. A wound on his arm was all he had suffered, painful but by no means fatal. Mickey and this Professor, who had kicked this whole thing off, had hurried in from the adjoining room and had overpowered Kirsten.

Philip had had enough time to think about his relationship with Mary. He had liked her calm manner back then, and also, she had been a pretty young woman. He had been a pilot, handsome albeit of humble origin. The match seemed ideal: an heiress to a considerable fortune who did not seem to be too clingy. It had not taken him very long to notice his error. Mary was an indifferent person without many passions – except for him. She had not uttered a single word of criticism upon the failure of Philip's business ventures, whereas it had eaten him alive. Some day he would show them all. Until then he had at least been able to create the necessary leeway, but then polio had changed everything.

Never would he be able to forget the day his physician had told him he would never walk again; the fits of rage, the resignation and the question he had always asked himself: whether he shouldn't simply swallow a few pills more. Mary had selflessly taken care of him – she made a good victim in general. _The poor young woman, what is left of her life if she has to take care of her husband all the time! _After a few months, he had despised her. She had stifled him, slowly but surely stifled him.

Philip had always been a man who came across as distant and even arrogant. He knew how to use his charm and was always friendly, yet he dealt with people as though through a pane of glass. He saw them, but never engaged in their lives. He had been in love with Mary, but the feeling had never consumed him entirely. Philip recalled his friend Matt telling him that he was getting married; this radiation, this beaming, this obvious joy. Philip had never known that and often asked himself if he was even capable of true love. What Matt had had was so different from the feelings he had harbored for Mary, which had been pleasant but nothing more.

On the other hand, how could he miss something he didn't even know? Even though his parents had taken good care of him, the atmosphere at home had never been warm.

Mary had introduced Philip to her parents only shortly before the wedding, as if she had suspected that at least her mother would oppose the match. Of course he hadn't been enough. A pilot without fortune was no suitable match for a Mary Argyle. Yet Mary, who never raised her voice and usually conceded, remained adamant. She would marry _him_ and no one else.

Philip took another swallow of whiskey, then put down the glass disgustedly on the little table beside him. He used to savor the quietness and solitude, but now… He had enough money, but what was he supposed to do with it? Mary's share of the trust fund had transferred into his possession, which had made him a wealthy man. This was what he had always wanted, wasn't it?

The house was quiet. The cleaning lady would be back tomorrow, but until then he'd be alone. She hardly uttered a word, but he always heard her steps, how she rattled with the dishes, filled her bucket and pushed it across the floor.

Now he didn't even have access to pills, nor did he own a weapon. Should he drink himself to death? What a prospect! The library was the most beautiful spot in the house; not only because he liked to look down into the garden. Here he didn't feel the solitude as much, even when he _was_ alone. The shelves not only held valuable leather-bound books intended to convey the impression of quiet luxury Mary had loved so much. There were also books Philip had come to cherish; on some days they managed to shake him out of his lethargy, making him wonder whether they were in fact the reason why he had stopped looking for ways to put an end to his life.

A little book with a now shabby burgundy cover was lying on the small coffee table. Philip reached for it; he didn't need a book mark for the book fell open at the same spot. Poems, _the_ poem!

Words, and yet so much more than words. Reading it had been a blow for him: Philip Durrant and poems – in the past, he would have deemed it ridiculous. His gaze slid over the words until everything became blurred and the book dropped from his fingers. Damn! What had become of him? A sentimental cripple who cried reading a poem! Maybe it was the alcohol after all. Philip took up the glass, ran over its surface, looked into the amber liquid. The light of the lamp was refracted in the facets of the glass, beautifying it, rendering it harmless. Then he finally did hurl it against the wall.

He was tired, simply tired, yet he bent down and picked up the poetry book. Smoothing the pages, he began to read once more. Why should he go to bed anyway? He wouldn't be able to fall asleep but lie awake for hours. There had been times when he had observed the sunrise from the library window. He turned the page. Strange, why had he never noticed this poem before? He was positive of having read the book sufficiently to be familiar with every single poem. He leafed a few pages back… they were blank. _What did that mean? _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_Lieutenant Durrant, would you like another glass?" He perceived the voice like from far away, then he felt someone slap him on the back. "Come on, Philip, can't you hold your liquor anymore? When I invited you to this bar to celebrate my engagement, I was sure you'd have drunk them all under the table by now. – Man, I think you'd better get yourself home, the way you look. Do you evknow who I am?" A young man with blond hair and blue eyes was grinning at him – Matt!_

He must have drunk more than he'd thought; the dream was so real. He had been on home leave at the time when he had actually sat in the bar with Mann and his other comrades, celebrating his engagement. They had danced like dervishes and he had indeed drunk them all under the table.

A strange dream. _Philip heard the voices in the background, even smelled the whiskey on Matt's breath. _Were dreams olfactory? _"Another glass, Lieutenant Durrant?", the bartender repeated, but Philip shook his head and rose. _At least he was able to walk in his dream. Matt's engagement, his radiance – he had once been Philip's best friend. Now he hadn't seen him in almost two years. Philip had wanted to avoid pitiful stares and broken contact.

_Tiredly, Philip started his way home, smiling, for never before had he experienced such a realistic and logical dream. _Mostly everything was chaos, if he remembered his dreams at all._ The streets were wet, and Philip inhaled the cold, fresh air deeply. The lack of people on the streets at this hour intensified the echo of his steps on the pavement. _How had it felt to _walk_? Steps on the sidewalk, actually feeling his legs, striding, hurrying, running…

_Philip unlocked the door to his room in the old guesthouse he was staying in. A musty stairway; weird, even this he remembered in his dream. A quick wash later he fell into bed and was instantly asleep. _

The sun was tickling his nose, coaxing his eyes open. Everything hurt, most of all his shoulder. Apparently, he had fallen asleep in his wheelchair – amazing it had taken him that long to wake up. Groaning, he wiped his face with his hands, and looked around. Yesterday's glass splinters still covered the floor, as did his poetry book he must have dropped at some point. He took up the book, placed it on the table carefully and wheeled into the bathroom.

Today was a gray one, as most days were now. The cleaning lady had already left after preparing breakfast for him and a casserole with salad for lunch. Philip always laid out her money on the table for he never felt like speaking to her; what would they talk about anyway? The current vegetable prices or whether ob Mrs. Smith of Harridan Cottage would get a divorce?

Brooding, Philip looked at the whiskey. Never before had he had a more beautiful and realistic dream than last night; he didn't even have a hangover. Still, it was time to deal with the future – if there was one for him at all. Comfortable though his inherited money was, at the same time it was almost a curse. His funds wouldn't dwindle before his eventual demise either for what should he spend his money on? Cars? He was no longer able to drive. Traveling? He hated being stared at. Books were the sole thing that distracted him.

This dream! Should he write to Matt? Matt, whom he had always envied for going about everything in such an optimistically and uncomplicated way? Philip himself was a planner, but some things were inevitable. Maybe he _could_ have prevented polio. Philip had done research, visited doctors; was there a cure? Would the paralysis fade? By now he knew these hopes to be futile; he would depend on the wheelchair for the rest of his life. His intellect was what had remained, even sharpened, but what good had it done? Wasn't _he_ to blame for Mary's death?

Basically he could stop wondering what his future would look like. One gray day would succeed another. Rain had set in, but what did it mean to him? Philip wheeled over to the desk; somewhere he kept Matt's address, together with a few photographs Matt had sent to him. Photos of his wife and a little boy he had named Philip. Maybe this dream _was_ a sign. Philip let out a short resentful bark of laughter. As if he had ever given a damn about this esoteric nonsense! Taking up a sheaf of paper, he began to write. The mailman would take the letter with him when he delivered the books Philip had ordered.

As always, Philip had withdrawn to the library with a cup of coffee. The poetry book seemed to lure him. Which poem had it been that he had read in his dream? All he remembered was that the poet was German, but what was his name? And what had the poem been about?

Philip took up the book and felt himself delve into the words once more. It was unsettling. He had always a rational person, almost suspicious of emotion, now he wished for nothing but being able to carry out what he was feeling, to love, to make use of all his senses. Maybe he should hire someone to take him out on a regular basis. His arms were still strong, but traveling for miles in the wheelchair impossible.

He turned a page. _Philip squinted into the morning sun, then quickly shut his eyes again. His head hurt. It had definitely been too much; the alcohol as well as the dancing. _He woke up with a start. Where was he? It had not been the alcohol for coffee was all he had consumed all day. What was that? Some side effects of the drugs prescribed by Dr. Myers or was he going mad?

_Philip __looked around. _He found himself on the bed in the shabby guesthouse from yesterday's dream. _He could feel his body, he could feel his legs! The same old carpet he remembered from back then, faded and wrinkly. Even the stain from the glass of red whine he had knocked over a day before. _No, not a day before. In truth he was sitting in his wheelchair in the library of his house a few years later, reading a book. He'd wake up later, but wake up from what? What was that?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_The ordinary acts of washing and shaving had turned into an enjoyable affair; it felt good to stand on his feet after all this time, to feel his toes tingle, even if this was but a dream. Philip checked his reflection in the mirror; _yes, that was him back then when he still had every opportunity and the world lying at his feet. The bitter, cynical wrinkles around his mouth were missing. _Wiping off the remainder of the shaving cream, he heard a knock on the door. "Just a second!" he called out, hurrying into his shirt. This must be Mary, who had driven over to the guesthouse back then to pick him up and introduce him to his parents. Buttoning his shirt, he opened the door, revealing a young woman who looked at him with glowing eyes. _Although he had felt flattered at that time, he knew know what was about to happen. What was about to happen? What was he talking about; this was nothing but a dream, albeit one close to a past reality.

_Mary wa__s pretty young woman of calm elegance with well-proportioned features, who wore her hair in a chignon and small pearl earrings in her ears.__Waiting for Philip to put on his jacket, Mary took in the room. "Oh", she exclaimed, „I never knew you read poems." Philip froze. There it was, the small well-thumbed poetry book, there on his night desk. "Poems have never meant anything to me", Mary went on, frowning, and kept on turning pages at random. Having been about to yell at her to put the book back, Philip managed to get himself under control. _

„_Are you done? Can we go?" Mary smiled at him, reminding him of why he had fallen in love with her back then. Holding the door open for her, he took a last glance at the night desk. The small dining area of the guesthouse had already been set for him. After the hostess had filled his teacup, he began his meal in silence. The basic rules of decency would have required him to talk to Mary, __but he felt uncomfortable in her presence. _

He didn't know what all that meant. Why was he in a dream, yet knew exactly what was about to happen? Dreams were different, and besides, why was he daydreaming? Although… not everything was exactly as he remembered – he hadn't read poems back then and not owned this book until many years later.

_Rachel Argyle's welcome was more than reserved. It was obvious that she would have wished for a different husband for her daughter. It was strange, but somehow Philip felt __he was in a stronger position; he knew her, knew everything about her, knew how she would be trying to deter her daughter from marrying him. Somehow he was feeling more at ease than earlier at the guesthouse. He was pulling the strings here, being able to alter the course of things. Here he was in charge. At the time, he had tried to impress Rachel Argyle; he had been in love with a woman to inherit a fortune that was of no little importance to him. _

„_Mr. Durrant, what are your plans for after the war? If I've understood you correctly, you had been studying ancient languages. A fascinating subject, to be sure, although…" Instead of finishing the sentence, she took a sip of tea and looked at Philip expectantly. _

Yes, he had once had plans to invest, thus proving to Rachel Argyle that she was wrong to judge him the way she did. No he knew this was not the right way. It had not only been bad look; he simply had no knack for business, nor the unscrupulousness needed for certain deals. _"I graduated with distinction and intend to pursue a teaching career. One of my professors will recommend me in Oxford."_

_Mary looked up at him in surprise. "You never told me, Philip! I thought you wanted to go into finance. Now you want to teach?" _

_Leo Argyle__, who had so far assumed a polite yet silent part, aside from a few words of welcome, now seemed interested. „Please tell me more, Mr. Durrant", he replied, and Philip noticed that he was glad to oblige. _

_As the afternoon concluded, Philip knew he had not been able to score any points with his future mother-in-law, but neither had he expected to do so. It was a fool's __errand to begin with. Leo Argyle, on the other hand, had shaken his hand warmly. Mary, in turn, had been silent for the most part of the afternoon. Only when they were back in the car, she turned to him: "Philip, why didn't you tell me? Mother was not overjoyed about our marriage plans, and your intention to teach at a university… I don't know why but she has always said there's no money in that, and now…" _

_Philip looked at Mary pensively. "I only realized not long ago." He hesitated. "Perhaps we should postpone the wedding if that is a problem for you." _

„_No, __Philip! Of course not, it is just… I want you to be happy."_

These words she had told him frequently, yet she had stifled him. "_Philip? Are you… are you in doubt?"_

„_Philip looked __down at Mary, who was looking at him almost pleadingly, saw the uncertainty in her eyes. Yes, he was in doubt, but he could hardly tell her that, most of all not why. Therefore, he smiled at her and kissed her gently. "No, Mary, I'm not in doubt." _

_He saw Mary off at the guesthouse for she had a couple of errands to run, and Philip would return to his comrades tomorrow. "I love you, Philip", Mary said, and he patted her arm gently _

_Philip unlocked the door to his room. Two long strides carried him to his bed. Lovingly, his fingers caressed the leather, then opened up the page indicated by a bookmark. _

Christian Morgenstern… Never in his life, he had read a poem by Christian Morgenstern, let alone found one in his poem collection.


	4. Chapter 4

Ein Buch für Philip Durrant 4

His favorite poem was one by Shakespeare. _In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes for they in thee a thousand errors not. But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, who in despite of view is pleased to dote…_

Reading the poem for the first time had been like being hit by lightning. Later he had asked himself whether he had unknowingly admitted to himself for whom he harbored those forbidden feelings.

No, the name of Morgenstern didn't mean anything to him. Philip thumbed backwards and forwards, but of course found nothing by this poet. He really would have to speak with Dr. Myers. In any rate he would refrain from touching the book or the whiskey.

The clouds had cleared off and the air was fresh. Philip had made up his mind; he called the game warden, who was glad to be able to earn a few shillings extra by accompanying Philip outdoors. Philip, in turn, was grateful the man didn't seem to feel the urge to strike up a conversation. He enjoyed the air, the color of the clouds and the scent of the plants. How desires changed! He used to never waste a thought on all that; nature had existed, nothing more. Polio had not only changed his life but himself as a person, too.

Two days later, Dr. Myers came over for a routine check-up. Although Philip's dreams had ceased, he asked the physician about possible side effects of his medication. Myers frowned. No, as far as he knew there were no such side effects. He checked Philip's eyes and asked further questions, which Philip waved off with a smile. He had not desire to be considered a madman. "It's probably normal to have a few funny dreams after all these events." he concluded, and the physician nodded.

Philip was drinking his tea and reading the _Times_ with interest for the first time in a long time. The dreams did have a positive effect after all for they had given him back his zest for life. Later in the morning the mailman delivered the books Philip had ordered, as well as a letter Philip chose to put aside for now. Some of these books Philip had procured from antiquity collections or auctions; some Gaelic documents were among them and several classics in special editions. At some point he reached, still deep in thought, for the letter.

_Jeremy __Brickdon, University of Oxford_, the sender was unknown to him. Unsure what to do, Philip held the envelope in his hand for few moments, then reached for the letter opener.

_Dear__ Philip,_

_You will probably have been wondering why I did not write to you sooner. __To be honest, I was not sure what to do when you resigned after your illness for, as you wrote, you did not feel like wheeling into a lecture hall and be stared at. But now I could not but write to you. We were never friends, but you were a good colleague. Your successor is not fit to hold a candle to you and will leave us at the end of this semester. This makes this letter a half-official one. The dean would be more than glad if you came back. I would be happy to hear from you; please call me. _

_Jeremy Brickdon_

Philip stared numbly at the letter.

He had told Leo Argyle he intended to the University of Oxford after the war, but that had been a _dream_. There was no way anyone could know about this dream and was playing a prank on him. Philip examined the paper; it looked genuine and bore the letterhead of the University, which also included a phone number. He dialed.

"University of Oxford, how may I help you?"

"Good morning, I would like to speak to Professor Brickdon…"

"One moment, please…"

Philip hung up. His fingers were trembling. The other possibility was even less likely. Not only unlikely, it was impossible. He was a grown man and didn't believe in such things. Had the dreams changed something? They had always occurred upon his readings of the poems book, which had remained untouched on the small table in the library for the past few days. Philip wheeled himself over and reached for it. He opened it up, only to lay eyes on Morgenstern's poem. This time he managed to memorize the first line… _Palmstroem's clock - a different kind_ –

_The folio he was holding in his hands had to weigh at least 13 pounds and had almost slipped from his fingers. Philip found himself standing in front of a shelf holding a book by Aristotle. "Don't you want to take a break, Philip?" Mary was holding a tray with te__a and cookies in her hands and was smiling at him. _

"_I'm not done with my preparations yet, in half an hour maybe." he replied automatically while asking himself immediately how he knew that. _

_Mary frowned. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I know you take your work seriously but you're overdoing it. ",Besides, we wanted to go over to my parents' house. You do remember they are expecting us for dinner, don't you?" The reproach in her tone was unmistakable. _

_As he was about to put the book aside, he realized how he was letting himself be manipulated again. _Mary, so gentle on the outside, possessed an iron will, and Philip knew he had put up with a lot in the past – what _was_ the past now actually? – for he had lost a substantial amount of her money in risky business ventures. Had be turned into a wimp who drowned his frustration in whiskey and could not bring himself to do anything else?

He was sick of it, heartily sick, and it was time he changed something. He should never have married Mary; this marriage was slowly but surely destroying him, and he knew now that he had never truly loved her. What had changed? He had chosen a different career path, he had not suffered any major pecuniary losses, but other than that everything had remained the same. His marriage had turned out exactly the way he had feared several days ago – had it been several days ago? What was wrong with time anyway?

The worst thing was, he didn't even know who he was himself. He had been a pilot in the war, and from what Matt had told him once, the worst daredevil he had ever met. This must have been what had attracted Mary, who herself was always calm, in need of security and – as Philip knew – considering herself a boring person. Marrying him had perhaps been a sort of compensation for something she didn't possess herself. Strangely enough he was a calm person in all other areas of life; had that been a compensation for him as well?

And now as a professor? Had he simply turned into a bore? And was he now handed the opportunity to change something?

"_Sit down, Mary." he said. She opened her mouth to answer. "Sit. Down!" he repeated, and Mary thought better than to defy him. _

"_I suppose we had both different expectations of this marriage. You married a pilot, who has turned into a professor, and therefore into a disappointment to you. But I, too, had different hopes and one of them is to retain my independence and my power to make my own decisions. It will depend on whether you respect that or no how things will develop between us."_

_Mary stared at him. Obviously, he had never talked to her in that manner. Even though she did not reply, her pressed-together lips bespoke her anger. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter__ 5_

_Leo Argyle__ greeted him warmly, making Philip aware of the friendship that must have arisen between himself and his father-in-law. What he remained unaware of, however, was why every knowledge of the fact had eluded him. He was the same person, and yet he was observing the whole like an outsider. A lot had remained the same, but his pursuit of a different occupation had thrown him into an obviously altered past. _

_Micky__'s and Tina's remote politeness bore witness of the lack of a personal relationship between them, as did Rachel Argyle's reservation. She was a woman clinging to her adopted children and who thought she could decide in their stead even though „these children" were children no longer. A professor, albeit at the University of Oxford, was not quite what she had had in mind for a son-in-law. _

_He smiled at Hester__, who greeted him briefly albeit coolly, the way she always did with him. Mary's mien, however, told him she disapproved even of this brief smile. Still, the evening passed quite pleasantly, until a glance at the calendar caused Philip to freeze: October 14__th__, the day Jacko had arrived here to attack his mother, who had refused to pay for his debts any longer. ._

_Extracting a cigarillo from his case, __Philip glanced at his watch. Not much longer until Jacko would arrive. He remembered everything clearly; Rachel Argyle had put up resistance for the first time in her life, only to be rewarded with being throttled. The murder had happened soon after. And yet, all his knowledge was for nothing, for who would believe him? On the contrary, should he confront Jacko or Kirsten now, they would be warned and would alter their plans. He had to do something without their noticing that he knew. Philip reached for his whiskey glass, turning it between his fingers. Then he drained it quickly and rose. He would be ready for Jacko. _

"_Jacko!" Philip greeted him condescendingly, causing Jacko to frown. What did Philip want from him? He had never paid much attention to Mary's husband, who was now standing in front of the closed entrance and did not seem willing to budge an inch. "You are not wanted here, Jacko", Philip said calmly yet determinedly. _

"_I don't think you've got anything to say around here", Jacko hissed, but then fell silent, knowing caution to be the mode of preference here. He had never seen Philip so determined, and it was now dawning on him that he had underestimated him. Philip had served in the Royal Air Force, he must be some 6'2" and of broad stature. Jacko know he could only lose here. Neither would he be able to persuade Philip to grant him entry nor did he stand a chance to win a fight against him. Without another word he turned around and left, his gait and posture bespeaking his suppressed rage. _

_Philip continued to wait a while longer, then re-entered the house. No one had taken note of the incident. _

_Hester __looked up upon his entry into the room. He seemed deep in thought, not looking at her. Mary, in turn, was still sitting beside her mother, engaged in conversation. Hester had sensed a slight tension between her and Philip; Mary's lips were in a pout, as always when she was sulking._

_Surreptitiously, she examined Philip. He was even more handsome than back then when Mary had brought him over for the first time. These dark locks on his forehead; these bright, gray-green eyes that seemed to pierce her every time he looked at her. Most of all, however, she loved his profile: His nose was anything but small, but any other shape would have looked wrong on him. She had fallen in love with Philip almost instantly, but had had to keep up her pretence of indifference. At the beginning she had told herself that she was easily impressed and that it was nothing but a harmless crush on her handsome brother-in-law. Soon, however, she discovered the true extent of her feelings: She was dreaming of his voice, perceived his slender fingers in her dreams, that were caressing herself, not Mary. _

_Whenever he came to visit, she caught herself staring at him repeatedly, following his every movement. She had never gotten along with Mary, but stealing her husband was out of the quest__ion. She had to end this foolish dreaming, to put Philip out of her mind, so she started taking her distance, taking care not to exchange more than a few word with him. Her behavior she might keep in check, her thoughts, however, remained out of her control. She had asked herself back then and was still wondering why Philip had chosen to marry her sister. Naturally, one of her first thoughts had been her fortune that had been set up in a trust fund for Mary and her sibling. Even now, Mary could afford to spend as much as she chose, but she had obviously been mistaken for Philip had been almost exclusively living on his earnings as a professor so far. _

_Admittedly, her sister was very beautiful; she had a slim figure and a perfectly-featured, almost __Madonna-like face, and a disposition to match – ostensibly. Being her sister, however, Hester knew this impression to be misleading. The only person to whom she had ever relented was her adoptive mother, being well aware it would serve her own purposes in the long run. _

_Mary's elegance now had always been the object of Hester's envy. She herself had always been a whirlwind, a child that had bruised her knees and sullied her clothing continuously. Mary, on the other hand, had been the "good" one, the blond angel who never did anything __and who was admired by everyone. Leo Argyle alone had preferred his wild Hester, which did not win her any points with Mary, who had always had a possessive streak about her. Thus, she had made it clear from the beginning that her husband "belonged" to her. Hester did not understand why Philip put up with so much._

_Philip __noticed he was being observed and, looking up quickly, he met Hester's eyes. For a brief moment, her eyes were anything but cool, but interested and warm and.. what was that? Philip blinked, but then told himself he must have been mistaken, for Hester's seemingly friendly gaze had given way to her polite, disinterested mask again. He did not know why she should dislike him. To his knowledge, he had never insulted her, but then he reminded himself that he might indeed have, only did not remember it. _

_Hester – Philip could not even recall when exactly he had fallen in love with her. She was a small, dark-haired woman with a snub nose and brown eyes. Hester was the enfant terrible of the family; still, Philip had been disappointed in her upon hearing of her affair with a married man. Everything besides that, her wish to become an actress, or her attempts to free herself from her mother's clutches, had pleased him. There had been something both admirable and naïve about these endeavors. Hester was a lively person who did not let other people think in her stead. Philip smiled as he recalled the time when he had observed her during an audition he had happened to hear about. To this day, she had no idea he had been her audience in the semi-obscurity. She had simply been awful._

_Out of the two, Mary was easily the more beautiful; yet she possessed a mannequin's animation, a fact he had realized too late. She had no imagination, showed no signs of curiosity and preferred everything to remain as it was. She had emerged from the wedding bed with iron clutches. Maybe there was more to the old saying that men paid more attention to appearances than was good for them than he had thought._

"_I am being unfair", Philip berated himself. "Mary can't help herself." Suddenly he felt a cold sensation running down his spine. He might think of Mary as a live being, but in the future he knew she was dead, had died in her attempt to save his life. "How false and arrogant am I?" Philip was horrified of himself. He rose, crossed the room over to where Mary sat and put his hand on her shoulder, but she did not seem to be in the mood to indulge him, as her stiffening shoulders told him. She had obviously been telling her mother about their scene in the library, for Rachel Argyle was eying him in an almost hostile manner. 'How dare you speak to my daughter this way?' her gaze told him unmistakably._

_Abruptly, Philip turned around; there was no reason why he should have to grovel. He would try to prevent the murder of Rachel Argyle and everything connected to it, but whether he was able to save his marriage… he doubted it now. He should never have married Mary in the first place, and he would not hold her solely responsible. The thought of divorce had crossed his mind briefly, but he had discarded it just as quickly. What good would that do? The woman he had actually fallen in love with made no attempt to hide her rejection. He resumed his place, reaching for his whiskey glass as was his habit, but then slammed it down again so vehemently to make the ice cubes clink. Mary shot him a testy look, then averted her gaze._

_What was wrong with Philip? There was something besides his disagreement with Mary; Hester was sure of it. He seemed worried and distant. Philip had never been a man of many words, but something was different today. The way he brushed over his forehead, the manner in which he had brought down the glass… Strange… Although she knew she should keep her distance, she could not bring herself to do it this time. He seemed almost insecure. _

_The weather seemed to be symbolic of the atmosphere between Philip and Mary for it was pouring while Mary's lips had formed a thin line and her tone cooled down several degrees, although hardly discernible for a stranger. Philip remained silent, only looked into her eyes for a long time but was unable to elicit a smile. Philip could imagine what was going on inside of her; his remark about her disappointment had hit a nerve. She _had_ been dissatisfied, but she had contented herself so far with being able to manipulate her husband into complying with her every design. Her mother, who had always thought Philip to be beneath Mary, would support her no matter what, even in case of a divorce. Even though Philip had considered this option himself, albeit for different reasons, he realized that Mary might be the one to take that way out of this marriage. On the other hand, what people thought had always been extremely important to him, and what _would_ people think if she sought a divorce for no apparent reason? _

_Another thought crossed his mind: should he get divorced, he would not be in the house during this disastrous night. Kirsten would not have tried to kill him, and Mary would still be alive. Perhaps it _was_ for the best, but first he needed to find a way to prevent the murder of Rachel Argyle, which he was only able to do if he continued to have access to Mary's parents' house. _

_Philip was holding the _Times_ in his hands without having taken in a word of the editorial, so he put it aside. "Are there any news of your brother Jacko?" he asked causally. Mary's look seemed to ask him what he was talking about, then she answered absent-mindedly: "No, why?" _

"_I heard he had pretty high gambling debts again, and that his creditors were after him." _

"_It's possible" Mary replied. „But I have long stopped taking an interest in what Jacko does. He will probably never change and at some point mother will have to see that no matter how much money she will give him, he will swallow up every penny like a black hole."_

_She began to clear the table, visibly relaxing; maybe because she could stop worrying about Philip and their relationship know._

"_What makes you say that? You have never cared for Jacko before." _

_Philip knew it would be difficult to find a reason that would convince Mary. A sudden concern for her mother would indeed rouse her suspicions. _

"_I don't know if it was your father who told me, but I believe that Jacko wants to get his hands on the fund now because he cannot live on the interest you all get. This concerns you all. At any rate, you should be careful; your mother has always had a soft spot as far as Jacko was concerned." _

_Philip knew himself how thin that must have sounded, but luckily it had escaped Mary's attention. She nodded and left the dining room. _

_Philip reached for his paper again and began reading the editorial article, who suddenly turned into a blur. _

Blinking, he found himself looking at Morgenstern's poem in the little book he was holding in his hands:

**Palmstroem's clock*  
**  
Palstroem's clock - a different kind -  
is mimosa-like designed.

All requests are kindly heeded:  
Many times the clock proceeded

at the pace that folks were urging  
- slowing up or forward surging

for one hour, or two, or three,  
as impelled by sympathy.

Though a timepiece, it will never  
stick to petty rules, however.

Just a clockwork, slick and smart,  
yet a clockwork with a heart.

* translated by Max Knight


	6. Chapter 6

Philip Durrant 6

_Palmstr__oem's Watch, _a poem about time… It merely confirmed what Philip had long since come to accept: that he had traveled in time and found that things had been altered… something he would have dismissed as a fantasy a few days ago. He had not "kindly heeded" any "requests", and it had been more than one or two hours, but maybe the there was a different meaning to it. The thought made him smile; there he was, believing in time travel and demanding logic…

Philip felt an inner vitality he had not felt since his days as a pilot. If he could change things, then perhaps he could prevent his infection with polio and retain his mobility… But then he realized with a start that he had no control over the point in time he traveled to. The perennial dream of mankind to know the future… What would I have done if… Philip knew now what a nightmare this knowledge created: to know something and finding oneself incapable of preventing it, not being able to confide in anybody – that was worse than ignorance. What was causing these travels and the return? In part through bodily contact with the book, but why had he returned upon his touching the newspaper?

The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He put the book aside and wheeled to the front door, his ongoing pondering causing him to open it without inquiring as to the identity of the person requesting access.

"Philip!" A tall man with a mischievous smile was looking down at him: Matt! He had hardly changed. His blond hair was still refusing to be tamed by a brush, and his attempt at a beard had obviously remained fruitless: a pathetic three-day sprout that had probably taken him two weeks to grow. "Philip!" Matt repeated. "I had to come at once when I received your letter before you changed your mind. – May I come in?"

Philip let him enter. He was glad to see Max even though his arrival had painfully reminded him that he would never be able to greet his at eye level. Matt put one hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you wrote to me. – Now I'm ready for some refreshment; is your tea still as bad as it used to be? If so, I prefer making one myself. I have turned into an expert in that field." Philip wheeled into the kitchen with Matt sauntering after him. He made no attempt at taking the can out of Philip's hands or to take the cups out of the cupboard as so many people did who didn't understand that, while he had lost his ability to walk, he was still in possession of his other capabilities including his brain.

" You really _should_ have let me handle the tea." Matt made a face after the first swallow. "It is definitely as bad as always." Then he cleared his throat. "What made you change your mind?"

Philip smiled. In this regard, too, Matt hadn't changed one bit; no beating around the bush, but a frontal assault of the elephant in the room. The two of them were as different from each other as could be, yet there had never been a person he had trusted as completely as Matt. But what would Matt think if he told him about the time travels? Probably he would think him insane or at least delusional and in danger. He could not tell him; in particular since there were things he could not explain himself. Were his travels of a corporal or a mere mental nature? And if he undertook another voyage into the past, what would the present look like when he returned? Would Matt still be there? Naturally he had never before entertained any thoughts in this direction. Time travel was not possible, and reading about them in books did not include expectations that everything had to make sense. What happens if you traveled in time and murdered your own grandfather – the big paradox… But experiencing it oneself was a different thing…

"Hey Philip, I'm not expecting a confession, but if it takes you that long to answer why you wrote to me…"

Philip blinked, then grinned at his friend. "Matt, all I can tell you is that I am very glad I _did_ write to you; I should have done so a long time ago. How long can you stay?"

"Right now only two days, but… it does not have to be the last time. By the way, Celia says hi and advises you to take some time to see your godson again. Did you have any special plans for today?"

"Matt, I haven't had any special plans in a long time," Philip replied, his old bitterness gaining the better of him again. "Maybe… I received a letter from a former Oxford colleague. They would be glad if I came back. But apart from the job and my books there will not be much left. I don't have a lot of friends and no matter how I look at it," he looked straight at Matt, "some things are over once and for all."

"I'm not gonna say everything is going to be all right. What about Mary's family? No contact with anyone?" Matt asked, frowning.

"I never had a close relationship with anyone but Leo, and even he… They are blaming me for Mary's death. If I hadn't been so nosy… And even if they didn't, if Mary hadn't died, we would have split up…"

A few seconds passed, and the process of taking in this information registered on Matt's face.

"I should never have married her, Matt. Maybe I could have figured that out sooner when you told me about Celia. It was so different between you two."

Matt took his time extracting a cigarette from his case. "You've changed, Philip," he said finally. "Back then I had the impression you didn't know what I was talking about, and I… well, I can tell you now… I didn't think that Mary Argyle was the right woman for you. Did your illness make you wiser or what was it?"

"Is that the friend talking or the prosecutor?" Philip asked seemingly casually and wheeled over to the cupboard that contained glasses and bottles. "Come, let us have a drink first." Matt understood that Philip didn't want to talk about the subject any further and sipped obediently the Madeira Philip poured in his glass.

Reminiscing had been nice, and Matt had known when to ease upcoming tension with humorous remarks, never permitting Philip to indulge self-pity. He had not laughed like that in a long time. Contentedly, Philip lay down in his bed while Matt was settling in in the guest room. Philip knew he would never have written to Matt if it hadn't been for these bizarre voyages into the past. Even if they did not repeat themselves, they had taught him that not only exterior events determined how he felt, but to a great extent his own attitude. If only he had known that those were no dreams but in fact reality, he would never have married Mary… Perhaps he would be granted another Chance. Hesitantly, Philip reached for the book lying on his night desk and opened it. Nothing happened. It was as he had surmised; he had no influence whatsoever on when and where he traveled.

Still, his thoughts remained occupied by the question "What if he had known that they were no dreams but in fact the past, what if he hadn't married Mary but tried to win Hester instead?"

What had he done that she behaved so coolly towards him? She was not a cold-hearted person; she was warm, funny, friendly… And now his chances were close to zero. He was only half a man now, no, not even that.

Philip closed his eyes. Hester appeared before him; she stroked his face gently and kissed him… Her fingers caressed his face, and then her hands wandered downwards… Oh yes… oh… yes…

_Say, are you even listening to me? I said I would like to go back to my parents' house", Mary said softly and took a sip of tea. "We'll have more time for ourselves there. Also, I don't understand why you want to go for these long walks all of a sudden. I find them way too exhausting, and just for a view from some cliff… You have changed a lot, Philip. You're really not the man I…" She fell silent upon seeing Philip's __blank stare. _This was more than a rude "awakening". Just now he had felt the illusion of Hester's kisses, and now… _He blinked once more, his ears registering her words this time. Only a few weeks ago, Mary might have thought but never voiced these thoughts. It was yet another proof for the slim odds their marriage stood of being saved, and now he did not even want to anymore, even if he no longer had a chance to win Hester. It was nothing dramatic; they simply had nothing more to say to each other. Only one thing was keeping Philip from uttering the words Mary had been ready to voice herself for some time but did not yet dare to say – divorce – and that was the knowledge of the impending death of Rachel Argyle._

_One look at the paper told him that only a few days had passed; if there was any pattern behind the gaps between his time travels, he had yet to figure it out. All he knew was that he had to make use of his time fast._

_The others had long since finished their breakfast, so Mary and Philip were the only ones to remain in the dining room. The door opened to reveal Kirsten, who was carrying in a fresh pot of tea. Kirsten – she had committed the murder for Jacko. What if he prevented her from helping him? Cold sensations ran down his spine. It was not a good idea, but time was running out. Kirsten topped their cups and Philip put aside his napkin. "Did I tell you that Jacko apparently got married? I believe, however, that his wife is not exactly what your mother would approve of." _

_The tea pot hit the floor hard and burst into pieces. Kirsten stood rooted to the spot, pale death. „Kirsten, what's the matter?" Mary called out in shock. _

„_I… I've felt sick all morning… Maybe…"_

„_Kirsten, you need to lie down." _

_Gratefully, Kirsten looked at Mary, who had clasped her arm and was guiding her out of the room. Philip stayed behind, musing. He knew that Kirsten was not a bad person, just an unhappy, deeply lonely woman who had never been loved by a man. Under the proper – or rather improper – circumstances, everyone could turn into a murderer. However, there were people like Jacko, and these were different. _

_A few days later, Kirsten left the Argyles, telling them she had been planning to start her own life for a long time and believing this to bet he right time. The first thing she would do was visit her sister in Sweden, then she would decide what to do next. _

_Kirsten's eyes were filled with tears as she left. "It is a strange feeling", Mary said, her voice thick. "She was a part of our life, and I though she would be with us forever even if we didn't need here the same way we used to when she was our nanny. I never thought she was unhappy here." Philip only nodded. He could not betray his relief about seeing her leave. Kirsten had not turned into Rachel Argyle's murderess, which meant that Mary would survive as well. Mary stared after the car that was taking Kirsten to the train station. "Philip", she asked, "can we go home soon?"_

"_We'll leave the day after tomorrow", he replied and put an arm around her shoulders. Even though he did not love her, he was glad to know she would live in the future. Mary looked up at him gratefully and smiled at him, taking his hand and stroking it absent-mindedly. "I am glad, Philip."_

_Saying goodbye to Kirsten only made Hester realize once more how much her parents' house imprisoned her. She was of age, nobody could restrain her in any way, yet she knew how her mother would react if she told her about the wishes and dreams she was indulging. 'Of course I understand you, child. You can believe me, I had similar dreams when I was your age. You have tried several things, are you sure?... I only want to protect you from making a big mistake…' She would never realize that Hester yearned for the right to make her own mistakes. Rachel Argyle would not keep Hester from attending college by refusing to pay the tuition, but nor would she support her or give advice. Being the daughter of a rich family was almost a curse; how Hester sometimes wished she was a man – in this case, she would have been able to convince her mother much more easily that she wanted to study, but as it was, she was expected to attend tea parties, do some charity work and otherwise wait for a suitable man to come into her life. It was as if the women's movement had moved past her family's house – a house in which her mother ironically pulled all the strings. This "not having to work" was very important to her mother. While Rachel Argyle had accepted Hester's work at the military hospital during the war (after all, everybody had to do their duty to their home country), studying and subsequent occupation to earn her living was out of the question. _

_Who would help her? Her brother Mickey had but laughed at her upon her mere insinuation of wishing to do something worthwhile. "Hey, you'll always have money to spend in your life. Have a little fun, take up painting or something… History of all things!" He shook his head, frowning. "You and Philip would be a great team. All you'll have to do is find someone to dust the pair of you every once in a while."_

_Hester wondered herself why she had chosen history. By now she had realized that her attempt at an acting career had been a mere act of rebellion. But history… she had always enjoyed assisting her father in indexing and his historical research during Gwenda's absence. Still, Hester knew that no support was to be expected on his part; he was kind, warm and nice but hopelessly old-fashioned in his way. How should she go about it – simply write to the university? Philip – these words, carelessly uttered by Mickey in jest… her brother's remark did not leave her. _

_She would only need a little help; once she was enrolled, she didn't even have to see him anymore. Besides, she had overheard that Philip and Mary planned to leave in two days. _

_He would never discover what she felt for him; all she was to him was his wife's little sister, and in comparison to Mary, she paled anyway. The soft voice telling her to keep her distance to Philip was easily suppressed. _


	7. Chapter 7

Philip Durrant 7

Mary had left with mother to visit the seamstress in town half an hour ago, and this seemed like the last opportunity to talk to him.

Deeply immersed in his books, Hester's entering the library escaped Philip' attention. Thus he was not aware of how she studied him; his elegant hands holding a fountain pen, the way he pushed a lock from his forehead absent-mindedly. Now he was frowning. How can anyone look so handsome wearing a frown? A thing Hester had quickly noticed was that Philip did not even seem to realize how good-looking he was. _'He is way too handsome for a stuffy professor', Mary had once said. How superficial her sister was! What was a professor supposed to look like, beard and glasses? – Hester, how long do you want to stand_ _there and_ _drool? _She cleared her throat. "Hello Philip…..Philip?," Hester repeated, slapping herself mentally. Why was it that she lost every ability of coherent speech in Philip's presence?" Biting her lip in shame, she resumed, „I wanted to ask you something and… would like an honest answer."

Philip put aside his fountain pen and looked at Hester in confusion. _How long had she been standing there, and why had she come at all? So far she had seemed to avoid his company. _

"Of course, Hester, take a seat."

Hester sat down and crossed her legs. ‚A lady does not cross her legs!' Her mother's words flashed through her in the most inopportune moment, rendering her even more nervous. Philip was looking at her expectantly. „How can I help you?", he asked in a slightly formal way.

"You are probably wondering why I'm asking you of all people. We have never been very… close. But you might be the most objective. I want to study history and already know what mother will say if…" The dam had broken, releasing a flood of words now, steaming with despair. "I hate this idle, self-righteous life that never changes, that holds nothing for me but waiting for Prince Charming who will never come." She bit her lip. That was _not_ what she had intended to say. She had wanted to ask for his support and to show him that she was in earnest, that she was not looking for a pastime but a useful occupation she enjoyed. "Maybe, maybe it was not such a good idea after all…", she said, blushing, and made to rise.

„No, Hester, stay, I'll be glad to help you if I can", Philip interrupted her. "You are right, though; I would have thought myself to be the last person you would turn to. You've never made a secret of your dislike for me."

"That is not true, Philip. really, it isn't. I… I like you… So you will help me?" _Oh Hester, you sound like an eager school girl and not like a woman who wants to go to college. _"My interest in history is genuine and not just a day old. It has always been the only subject I've ever really enjoyed. You are a teacher; do you think I can study history and if so, which college would you recommend? Father might be glad to have me help him with indexing, but in his eyes a woman who studies… well, you know him." Hester fell silent. Everything had been said.

Hester had hardly dared raise her eyes up at him. What if he noticed that she more than _liked_ him? So far she had avoided any contact with him as far as possible and thus thought herself on the safe side.

Philip contemplated her in astonishment, then smiled. In spite of her insecurity that he failed to comprehend and that he had never before seen in her there was something fresh and vital about here, and this alone would have been sufficient for him to support her. He knew she would eagerly devote herself to something she thoroughly enjoyed. Yes, he would help her.

The large suitcases were already stored in the trunk, and Mary was putting her jewelry carefully into her jewelry box when her mother entered and quickly closed the bedroom door behind her. "Philip is downstairs in the library, packing something…. I wanted to tell you again that you will have my every support should you decide to divorce him. Philip simply isn't the right man for you, and you are still young enough…"

Mary stood up and embraced her mother. "Thank you, mama. You are probably right, I should never have married him. He has changed so much. I just don't understand… But I want to try at least. He just _has_ to give in. Those old languages can't be that important, even if it is Oxford."

Through the open door to the library Hester could see Philip standing next to the desk. This presented the last opportunity to speak to him in private. "Hello, Philip!" As always when she was facing him, her every wit abandoned her. "I sent the letter yesterday, and I just wanted to say thank you." A small wrapped package was extended towards him, which he reached for hesitatingly. "Don't… don't you want to open it?" He sensed it in her tone how important it was to her, so he removed the fine silk paper, to reveal a golden cigarette case engraved with his initials. A small white card was lying on top of the case, simply stating _Thank you_.

„ I got the case yesterday and had to wait for them to engrave your initials."

Philip stared at the case, then at Hester's face. Only then did it dawn on him that he had been mistaken all along in his assumption that Hester disliked him. All the rejection she had put forth arose from a totally different reason. For a brief moment, her eyes reflected the great longing that had been filling her for so long. Philip reached for her hand. "Hester, I…"

Her initial expression of longing was instantly replaced by panic, and she quickly disengaged her hand. "I have to go Philip. Take care."

Philip stared after her as she hastily retreated, almost fled from the room. Hearing Mary's voice in the hallway was his cue for putting the cigarette case slowly away into his pocket. _Hester… she had loved him, and now she was gone… Take care…_

Philip had to give Mary credit for trying, yet any attempts to save their marriage were too late. His thoughts were with Hester most of the time even though he told himself he was being so unfair to Mary and that Hester, although she had admitted her true feelings to him, had made it clear that she did not want so see him again.

Only one week after their return, Philip was sitting in his study on night; Mary had gone to visit her mother fort he weekend, while he had made up his mind: he would talk to her and file for divorce. It was as if he had been relieved of a terrible burden. He stood up and walked over to the credenza to pour himself a glass of whiskey. And after the divorce he would…

"Penny for your thoughts, Philip", a voice said behind him, and when he turned, he found himself looking into Jacko's smiling face and the unsmiling barrel of a gun.

„Before you ask the inevitable question of how I got in here, let me tell you that the lock to keep me out has not been invented yet. What I didn't think, though, was that _you_ would present a problem. I don't know what you're after either; maybe the old people's money does mean more to you than you admit… First meeting you at the door, then your remark to Kirsten – I don't believe in accidents."

Philip made to rise, an enterprise quickly forstalled by Jacko with a brief gesture. „I know Mary is gone fort he weekend, which means I have time to listen to your explanations. Well?"

Philip gulped. _What was he supposed to say? That he knew everything beforehand because I had come from the future? Very plausible!_

„Tsk, tsk, you think that silence will help you? You know that you will not leave this room alive, but you can determine whether your demise will be sealed by a simple bullet or… something more painful. Believe me, the possibilities are endless."

Drops of perspiration had surfaced on Philip's forehead. He knew this to be no empty threat; he would die here and now. He had taken these time travels for a second chance, for an opportunity to change the past, and now… He stared. When he had realized in his other life that he would never walk again, he had often wished to have a gun at his disposal to put an end to his miserable existence. Mary must have sensed this, making sure that his pistol was disposed of and that someone was always with Philip. Later, after her death, he had thought about it again, but somehow it had never happened. Had there been a little will to live left in him? Now, however, fate seemed to grant him his then wish after all. He began to laugh softly.

"What are you doing?", Jacko hissed, "You are making a mistake if you think I am not to be taken seriously." His eyes had narrowed to slits out of which Philip's eyes were met with burning hatred.

Philip blinked as he perceived Jacko's voice. "I am taking you seriously. I was just wondering if there was something like destiny after all that one can't escape from."

"Save your philosophical blabber! I know you have always looked down at me… The University of Oxford professor… This mistake you will not make this time. So out with it! As I said, I don't believe in accidents. What do you know and who else knows about it? – Raise your hands, get up and come over here very slowly", he added when Philip failed to react.

"Stop! Stay there!", Jacko warned Philip, who paused three steps away from him. "Now we will see if you keep up this brave front when you see just how serious I am. You might have been a pilot, but you have never been wounded, have you? Do you know what pain is, Philip?" He smiled, slowly lowering the barrel of his gun until it was pointing at Philip's knee. "Don't delude yourself, Philip. In crime novels, the villain always does something foolish, and the hero manages to overpower him. This, on the other hand, is reality. Come on then, this is your last chance of a clean bullet."

Philip swallowed. "I had a feeling you'd be needing money. We have the same bookie."

Jacko chuckled. „Well, well, the serious Professor Philip… no better than our like. So I _was_ right, you're after the old people's money as well." He paused, then asked, "What's my bookie's name?"

Philip knew he had lost. He had desperately grasping for straws in his dilemma of having to deliver a plausible excuse, but Jacko had looked right through him.

"You think you can fool me – stupid Jacko who falls for your little games?" As Jacko's face twisted, so did his finger, sending a bullet straight at Philip.

A searing pain pierced Philip, causing him to cry out as the bullet hit his thigh. Groaning he crumpled; a dark stain started to spread on his pants, so he pressed his hand on the hole. "No reason to scream, Philip", Jacko sneered. "I am a good shot, you know? It is only a flesh wound." He seized a small blanket lying on a little table and threw it at Philip. "We wouldn't want you to die prematurely. Here, put this around the wound." Philip's trembling fingers took the piece of fabric and tied it around his leg.

"Second chance, Philip. Who else knows about this?" He raised the gun.

„No one, no one knows about it", groaned Philip. "I know you're always in need of money, so it was clear to me why you came to the house. The thing with your wife was an accident; I overheard her… uh… talking to a colleague at the movie theatre…"

"That might even be true; she has always been a little too garrulous." Jacko smiled unpleasantly. "But you will understand, though, that I need to make absolutely sure." His finger pulled the trigger, making Philip scream out in pain as the bullet shattered his knee cap.

"Well, Philip? You see you can save your little games. I'm asking one more time… Who else knows?

„Nobody," Philip groaned. The pain was spreading through his entire body, fogging his brain.

„Good boy", Jacko snickered, „I believe you are telling the truth, and since I have important business to take care of, I think it is time to end this whole affair."

The last thing Philip perceived as through his foggy eyes was Jacko's sneering face and the fiery muzzle flash, a piercing sensation in his chest, then nothing.

Jacko took in the motionless, twisted figure on the floor and Philip's chest where a dark stain was slowly spreading. Then he took one last look at the room; he had acquired sufficient experience in leaving behind a scene looking like a burglary. A few minutes later he had left he house.


	8. Chapter 8

What if….?

A deep sense of bliss filled Hester as she read the letter a third time. She had been accepted and would start college next semester. Tomorrow she would show the letter to mother, and even though she already knew she was facing a heated discussion, that did not disturb her mood one bit. It was time she detached herself from her family, and perhaps the discussion tomorrow would prove to be her first test. Mother would come back in a good mood for she would come back from the seamstress with Mary – at least one daughter who had turned out the way Rachel Argyle had imagined. Hester had partly overheard Mary's conversation with mother. Her marriage with Philip seemed to get worse and worse. Philip – she had not seen him in a week. He had noticed exactly what was the matter with her; she had realized how surprised, almost puzzled he was. Still, he had not appeared repulsed, rather than… Butt hat might be wishful thinking… All the same, she had to thank Philip. He was the only one she could share her joy with. None in the family would understand what her acceptance letter meant to her. She would go over to his house, not long, and it would be the last time for several months anyway that she would see him… _Hester, why are you lying to yourself? You don't want to just thank him, you are harboring the insolent hope of his reciprocating your feelings somehow. _

An hour later she was steering her car up the narrow street leading to Philip's house. It was a remote place, but the view compensated for a lot. By now, doubts were nagging at Hester if her decision had been right, but now she was almost there, and she would keep her visit brief, the more so as dusk was setting in. Philip seemed to have entertained a visitor, for a car was coming towards her from his house. She had already noticed the glow of a lamp from the library. He would be working again; Mary had been complaining about that often enough. Hester parked her car and rang the bell. Normally, the light should be switched on the hallway, but… nothing. Hester rang again, but Philip did not open the door. The library could be accessed from the garden as well; she would simply enter the house through that backdoor.

Through the window panes, Hester could see inside the illuminated library – and froze. On the floor she saw Philip's motionless body. Hester's heart was in her throat. The car just a minute ago, and Philip… Was he …? She did not dare think any further. She seized a big flower pot sitting next to the terrace door and smashed it against the window with full force, reducing it to a rain of shambles. Hester cut her hand as she reached inside to unlock the door, yet she felt no pain. All she registered was Philip's unmoving figure on the floor. His chest and his right leg were stained with dark blood. Hester knelt and took Philip's hand… it was warm, and… there… a pulse, albeit faint – he was still alive. Fear gripped at her heart; yes, he was still alive, but for how long? Hester leapt to her feet and yanked the receiver from its cradle: "An ambulance, quickly, please send an ambulance to Philip Durrant on Leicester Road 37. He has been shot; he is still alive, but… please hurry!" Hester answered some more questions, and then hung up. She had to try to stop the bleeding. As so many other young women, she had worked as a nurse in the war. Buttoning up Philip's vest, Hester now realized why he was still living. Tucked in his shirt pocked was the cigarette case she had given to him; it had deflected the bullet a little, which had entered his flesh close to his lung just below the collarbone. Even though this was no lethal wound, combined with the injuries to his leg… Philip would bleed to death if help didn't arrive soon.

Hester had always been a dreamer, and looking back she wondered how she had summoned up the strength to act this quickly. A white linen from the bedroom she tore into shreds. Philip's pants she cut with the letter opener form his desk. For some reason, a scarf was tied around his thigh, as if he had tried to bind the injury himself. Setting eyes upon his knee, Hester's face drained of color; she had seen enough wounded in order to know that Philip's leg, should he survive, would remain stiff. Where _was_ the ambulance?

Hester had now treated Philip as far as she could, but why had he still not regained consciousness? Two of the bullets were still stuck in his leg, and one below the shoulder. Was he in shock? She knelt next to him on the floor and seized his hand. „You can't die, Philip", she whispered. „You can't die." Tears were streaming down here cheeks. Suddenly, Philip's eyelids fluttered, revealing his eyes for a second, then, after a soft moan, his eyes closed again. Hester held her breath. Was Philip…? Involuntarily, her hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stifle a sob, but then she could feel his pulse again. He was not dead – yet. Hester caressed Philip's hand, speaking to him, pleading with him to hold on. Probably he could not hear her anyway. After some time that seemed endless, the sounds of the ambulance drew closer. Finally!

"You have done very well, Mrs. Durrant", the physician praised her while Philip was being carried out on a stretcher. "If he survives, he will owe it to you." He face was serious. "Yet I wonder why he is still unconscious."

Hester blinked her tears away. „I… I am not Mrs. Durrant, I am his sister-in-law. My sister is with my mother… They might be back from the city… we have to contact them."

The doctor considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Accompany him to the hospital, then at least one family member will be there, if… well, he _has_ lost a lot of blood. Hester's sudden pallor made him add: "Don't lose hope, child. We will call your sister from the hospital."

Hester followed the ambulance in her car after she had provided the police with her personal data. As soon as the scene had been examined, one of the officers would come to the hospital and take Hester' testimony.

Mary and her parents arrived at the hospital almost two hours later. Philip was still unconscious, and Mary burst into tears at his bedside. While Rachel Argyle took her daughter in her arms and tried to comfort her, Hester left the room quietly. If she stayed any longer, she would give herself away.

Philip would live; that was clear soon, even though strangely enough he still had not regained consciousness. His blood loss was not as grave as it had originally appeared. _Funny how these things strengthen the family bonds, _Hester thought, when even Jacko enquired after Philip's condition. He had never been close to his brother-in-law, but evidently he had been as shocked as everyone when she had told him what had happened, for his face had gone deathly white. "Thank you, Jacko", she replied. "The doctor said that he was not in danger anymore; it is only a matter of time until he wakes up again."

Two days later, however, something happened that changed the Argyles' world forever. Jacko broke into his parents' house and opened the safe. Rachel Argyle, a light sleeper, had surprised him. She had long known that Jacko was after her money, but no one had expected _this_. Her eyes widened in shock and but a soft cry erupted from her throat when he seized the poker and smashed her skull. The sound that ruptured the nocturnal silence sufficed to rouse Leo and Micky, yet they came too late. Apart from watching Jacko flee with the money, there was nothing they could do. Rachel Argyle was dead.

Now they saw the attack on Philip in a different light, too, but the one that might have been able to tell the tale, still had not woken up, not even two weeks after the shots. There was no reason why this should be so. Even though his chest wound had been grave and had grazed his lung and even though he had lost a lot of blood, the physicians had no explanation whatsoever for the fact that he remained in a coma.

Her mother's death had totally uprooted Mary. Although she had not actually loved her – none of the children had – she had been a stable entity in her life, and Mary knew that her surrogate mother had been highly pleased with her: she had been a reflection of what Rachel had wished for. During the funeral, Mary had appeared numb, but while the rest of the family was taking care of the inevitable things that came with the death of a close one, Mary had to return to her husband's bedside. She hated every second.

_Mother was right, _Mary though, looking down on her husband. _I should never have married him. _She looked at him as she would at a stranger and was relieved that Hester came by from time to time. She could hardly bear to be at a sickbed by herself and shuddered at the sight of Philip who lay there still as the dead. Teary-eyed she turned to her sister. „Oh Hester, I don't deserve this! I don't know how to bear it and even if he wakes up, do you know that the doctor told me that his leg would remain stiff? It was bad enough for me that he took on this boring job, but think of him as a cripple…"

Mary fell silent upon Hester's look. "YOU can't bear it, it is bad for YOU? Have you considered for a moment what it must be like for your husband who deserves your every support?"

"There is no need for you to act so saintly", Mary snapped. "No one is interested in how _I_ am." She touched her temple. „I've got a headache and will go home now. It doesn't matter anyway whether I'm here or not. I'll be back tomorrow." Abruptly, she turned on her heel and left the room. She had not even turned back to Philip, let alone said goodbye. Of course, he couldn't hear her, but how could Mary be so selfish now? No matter if he could hear her or not, if she truly loved him…

Hester remained alone in the sickroom. The ticking of the clock was the only sound to be heard. Two weeks had passed since this fateful night. The wound in Philip's chest was healing well, the doctor had assured, and there was no reason for him not to wake up. Was he picking up what was happening around him? If so, wouldn't that be the worst thing imaginable? Hester drew the chair closer to the bed and sat down. She didn't know herself why but on her way to the hospital she had passed a small second-hand bookstore that seemed to attract her magically. Her choice had been a small book of poems, among which there were many by Shakespeare. Now she withdrew the book from her purse; maybe she was supposed to read something to him. Opening up the book on a random page, she started to read:

_In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,  
For they in thee a thousand errors note;  
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,  
Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote.  
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted;  
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,  
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited  
To any sensual feast with thee alone:_

Hester halted and had almost laughed aloud. Shakespeare – she loved Shakespeare, but could she have picked another poem that fit the situation less? She loved him with her eyes, and his voice… It was hard to believe what his voice had always stirred inside her. She felt the fine hairs on her arms lift whenever he spoke, this deep expressive baritone that seemed to draw her in. And even now, with him lying pale and helpless under the covers, she had the urge to touch him. "I love you, Philip. Everything inside me becomes alive when I see you… And I am captivated by you, I want to touch, I want to taste, I want everything…" she said softly.

Then she saw his hand moving slightly.

"How long are you planning on staying in bed?" Matt's voice and some loud banging on the door jolted Philip out of his sleep. "I have made some tea, and it's actually drinkable." Philip opened his eyes slowly.


	9. Chapter 9

Philip Durrant 9

He blinked, needing some time to find out where he was. His head felt leaden and everything hurt. His last memory was Jacko shooting him in the chest, but how was it possible that Jacko had missed him from such a close distance? He remembered the fire, the piercing pain in his chest… What he felt now, however, was his right leg in particular... his leg? It was _aching_! Philip swallowed... his legs. He could move his toes... tears welled up in his eyes, tears he did not even try to suppress. He flung back the sheets and sat up in bed. His legs, not more than debris for two years, were moving now, and he placed his feet on the floor carefully. His right leg seemed rather stiff and hurt when he put weight on it, but that did not matter! He would be able to _walk_ again.

"Philip, you still alive?" a voice boomed from outside the door. "Yes… yes, everything is OK", Philip answered hoarsely. Only now did he take a look around the room and froze. This was not the bedroom he knew – no shiny mahogany furniture but old walnut instead. An old dresser with drawers and a big wardrobe with tarsia, a cane being placed near the head of the bed…. A woven rug covered the wooden planks and a pile of books was sitting on the night desk. A few old photos of his parents graced the wall, and that was all. No fancy decorations, no valuable curtains. The bedroom possessed a second door, probably leading to an adjoined bathroom. From outside he could hear the clattering of dishes, doubtlessly Matt rummaging through his kitchen – or maybe someone else entirely?

"I'll be right there", Philip called, grabbed the cane and rose. His movements were not fluent, yet easier than he had imagined. The door on the opposite wall revealed, as he had guessed, a small bathroom.

His trembling fingers undid the buttons on his pajama jacket and took it off. The mirror reflected his image; a scar, not entirely healed yet, marred his chest. He would wash quickly and brush his teeth and then join Matt outside. First he needed to find out what had happened.

Ten minutes later, he left his bedroom and crossed the small, comfortable-looking hallway, following the kitchen noises. An old mirror was hug over a walnut chest, a small rug covered the tiles and the coat rack sported several jackets, men jackets. A number of pairs of shoes were lined up against the wall.

Matt peeked out of the kitchen. "You know, we are not _that_ kind of friends that would make me serve you your tea in bed. If you want breakfast in bed, sleep in the kitchen. Or get a woman back in this house", he added with a grin.

Philip grinned back, the grin replacing the answer he did not have, for he had no clue what had happened in the meantime. All that seemed obvious was that Mary did not live here anymore. Philip sat down and helped himself to toast, fried egg and Marmite. No, definitely no sign of another woman here, he concluded as he glanced around surreptitiously. Unconsciously, he reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a metal item he placed in the table. It was the cigarette case Hester had given to him, albeit totally bent out of shape.

Matt looked at him, his features turning soft. "I should have known you are carrying that around with you all the time. If you hadn't had that in your breast pocket, and if Hester hadn't found you… Hey, buddy, what's wrong?" he added, alarmed by Philip's pallor.

"You are probably right; I can't hold my liquor", Philip replied and was glad Matt went on. "You know, she visited you a lot when you were in the hospital, still in a coma, and if you hadn't told me that she never seemed to like you, I could have sworn… Well, it doesn't matter now; she's in college anyway. And your lazy days will soon be over as well. Six months of vacation – man, I envy you." He grew serious. "Philip, I know it sounds trite, but the thing with your knee... You could have ended up like Rachel Argyle."

„I know, Matt, and you can believe me; I am very grateful", Philip answered slowly. He needed time to think everything through, but Matt was already rising. "I'm sorry but I need to go. Too bad these two days have passed so fast. Don't immure yourself here. Maybe your students will be able to cheer you up. And you have to visit us soon; your godson has a right to some presents."

Philip saw Matt out and stared after him as he drove away. He still felt numb. Damn, how was he supposed to find out what had happened without other people thinking he had gone mad? Slowly, he made his way over to the library and opened his desk drawer. He would start here.

Startled, Hester had bolted from the hospital room and had called a nurse when she had seen Philip's fingers moving. Mary was notified, and soon after her arrival, Philip woke. _A nice hypocrite you are_, Hester thought when she saw Mary sitting teary-eyed by Philip's bed. _This afternoon you couldn't get out of here fast enough. _Now she was even kissing Philip's hand.

Philip made a surprisingly speedy recovery, even though the doctor turned out to be right for his leg remained stiff. Only a few weeks later, Mary and Philip returned home.

Hester had not shown up in Philip's hospital room again, nor did she visit him at home after his return. When she drove away several weeks later to begin her studies, she was well aware of the fact that this would be the last time for several months that she would be here. After the inheritance had been divided amongst the siblings and everyone but Jacko, who was still on the run, had received their share of the fund. Mickey tried to start up a business with Tina. Hester's relationship with Mary had not improved, on the contrary.

Perhaps it was better that she left for good. Mary's and Philips marriage was a conflict-ridden, but it was useless to waste some more years pining over a man she'd never have. It was time to start a new life. At the university she would get to know other people and perhaps she would be able to forget Philip.


	10. Chapter 10

What if…? 10

The desk had been a rich source for his research of the past, his _own_ past, old newspapers and magazines with articles about the family, the murder of Rachel Argyle and Jacko's attempt to murder him, his divorce papers, letters from Mary's lawyer, a deed of sale for this house, some letters from the University of Oxford…

Obviously, Mary had had a bad conscience towards him because it had been _her_ brother who had shot Philip and damaged his leg. According to the marriage contract, Philip had had no claim on any money from the trust, if _he_ filed for divorce, but nevertheless, Mary had signed over 30000 ₤ to him, and he had bought this property. The shelves in his library were filled with textbooks, and to his relief he had realised that he mastered this subject matter. Philip had looked around and found that he liked the house as it was. Probably Mary would have called his furniture shabby and be ashamed of his untidiness and lack of taste, but here he could breathe and didn't have to be afraid to make a mess with his food. How often had she chastised him for leaving his plates and cups everywhere and reading while he ate, spilling something on the table. Of course she had been right – sometimes – but he realised that he felt free and happy to be rid of all her complaints and restrictions.

Philip found greeting cards from the Dean and various colleagues, who wished him speedy recovery and a reunion in the next semester. Philip smiled. How often Mary had chastised him for his untidiness, but this time it was an advantage. Like a puzzle, he could put together all the small clues to a picture of the past months. What he didn't find, however, was something from the one woman he wanted to hear from most – not a single line from Heather. This didn't prove that she had not been here, but he would find out.

A visit at Leo Argyle the same day had told him what he wanted to know: Heather had saved his life and had been at his bed in the hospital, but afterwards she had not once visited him. Her gaze the day when she had given him the cigarette case – he'd only imagined things. I had been simply wishful thinking; she didn't care for him. Perhaps he should be glad to know before making an ass of himself. He was not dependant on a wheelchair, but his leg had remained stiff. He was a respectable professor with a middle income and Hester was a rich heiress. Twirling the glass in his hands, he came to a decision: He would make the best of his life, would live every day to its fullest – without Heather. He had got a second chance and he would use it.

Some weeks later he returned to university. He was a man who had a talent to make things interesting, to make history alive. But it were the female students, who were not only interested in the subject matter the young professor taught. Of course they had read the newspapers and knew what had happened. _Wasn't he fascinating and didn't he look gorgeous, well, apart from the fact that he needed a cane, but this didn't really matter, did it? And now that he was divorced… They said that __he__ had filed for divorce, but of course his wife was to blame. She was rich and had wanted to get rid of her husband._ Philip didn't seem to notice any of the romantic feelings the students harboured for him. He was kind to each of them without preferences. _Perhaps it was too soon after his divorce, but such a wonderful man could not remain single._

"This would be all for today, Beatrice." Philip signed the report for the Dean and sighed, relieved. Then he handed the folder to his secretary and smiled at her. She was not to blame that he hated this paperwork and he could be glad to have such an able secretary. Furthermore she was a vision of delight, slender and of medium height, blond hair and regular face, a straight nose and dark blue eyes, a little like Mary – ouch! He shouldn't have thought that; she didn't deserve this. Philip cleared his throat and shook his head, musing. "I don't know what I would do without your. I'm helpless with anything concerning organisation."

Beatrice smiled at him. "That's what I'm here for, Professor Durrant. Shall I make you a cup of tea before I go? "

"That would be nice, Beatrice," Philip replied and returned to his books. By now he did most of his preparations at university and not at home. The advantage was that he got drinkable tea and that Beatrice provided him with sandwiches and cake. How come that she was not married? She didn't wear a ring and always worked overtime if necessary, which made it improbable that there was a man in her life.

Beatrice Stylptich closed the door carefully. She had put a thermos jug and two sandwiches on Philip's desk and set off. When she had been told that she should become the young professor's secretary, she couldn't believe her luck. This man was too good to be true. He didn't seem to have tempers, although he seemed a bit sad at times; he was friendly and not a bit arrogant. Plus, he seemed to be good at his subject matter. She had seen that he liked what he saw, - men were an open book in this regard – but unfortunately he was a little reserved. As much as she liked this… Beatrice sighed. Perhaps he was only a little shy after his divorce; how dumb could his wife have been to let him go? With a little patience… He didn't notice how often her gaze followed his slender fingers and lingered at his dark hair, his eyelashes and his wonderful nose. When he dictated a letter, she had to suppress the impulse to stop and just listen to his baritone. He was young and she was around him nearly all day. Soon he would realise that she was not only a good secretary but a woman, _the_ woman for him.

Indecisive, Philip twirled his pen between his fingers. He had wanted to forget Hester, had tried, but obviously his feelings didn't play along. Perhaps he should write her; perhaps she was waiting for _his_ letter. He could write a thank-you letter and ask her to dinner. Perhaps…_Don't be such a coward, Philip!_

Some hours and many rumpled sheets of writing paper later he called for his secretary. "Beatrice, would you mind bringing this to the post office for me?"


	11. Chapter 11

What if ..? 11

„Of course, Professor Durrant," Beatrice replied and took the envelope. Philip remained seated at his desk for a while after she had left the room. Now that he had written the letter, he could hardly wait. Should he call Beatrice back and rewrite the letter, make it one week? He swallowed; he would know soon.

Why had the young professor already closed the envelope? Beatrice put the letter on top of the other mail and fetched some stamps. This was the first private letter Professor Durrant had written from here. _Hester Argyle_ was a name she remembered from the articles in the newspapers; she was his sister in law. Beatrice franked the other letters and put them in her briefcase. The letter to Hester Argyle seemed to look at her. For a moment she hesitated and then put it into her coat pocket. She could post it tomorrow, could she not?

The letter seemed to burn a hole into Beatrice's coat pocket. Never before had she done something like that. She felt as if everyone she met on her way home could see that she had something to hide. Exhausted, she unlocked the door of her small flat and laid the letter on the chest of drawers in the hallway. She went into her kitchen and put the kettle on, but when the water boiled, she had not even retrieved the tea tin out of the cupboard, but was just sitting at the table staring into space. She had to bring the letter to the post office; what was she doing here? The water was still boiling and the steam filled the kitchen. Slowly Beatrice rose and fetched the letter. Nobody would notice…

_Dear Hester,_

_I've thought long and hard how to begin this letter, you know how grateful I am – I would not be alive were it not for you. You and the cigarette case you gave me as a gift saved my life. I have not seen you since and I would like to say thank you in person. Your behaviour the last time I saw you gives me hope that our animosities from the past were mere misunderstandings. I would like to invite you to dinner; do you remember the little restaurant in the neighbourhood of my former house? Would it be convenient for you in two weeks from now on at 8°° pm? If not, please contact me and we can find another date. I'm looking forward to seeing you again._

_Love,_

_Philip_

So this was it…Even though he had been careful in his phrasings, Beatrice knew what it meant. Determined, she tore the letter to shreds.

Philip had been sitting in the restaurant for quite a while, but he barely noticed the view. Women were always late, were they not? He ordered his third cup of tea and nervously took a drag on his cigarette. She would have written him, if her schedule were too tight. But a little voice in his head said: _She has stood you up, Philip. __She doesn't care for you. __You are not even worthy an answer; she couldn't have been clearer. No visit, not even a single letter and now this… _It was time that he faced the facts. Philip beckoned the waiter and paid.

The next morning Beatrice saw at once how bleary-eyed Philip looked and brought him without further questions a cup of strong coffee and some biscuits. He smiled at her wearily, glad, how calm and understanding she was without being intrusive. His head hurt and he messaged his temples. "Do you need anything else, Professor Durrant?" she asked.

_It is time to wake up from my silly dreams. Hester is not the only woman in the world_, Philip thought when the door had shut behind his secretary. _She's got nice legs_.

_I'm a coward_, Hester thought. _I need father to tell me about Philip and I can't manage writing a single letter to him. How many have I begun and torn? – And what if I call him?_

"University of Oxford, outer office of Professor Durrant," she heard a pleasant female voice from the receiver.

"Hello, my name is Heather Argyle, may I speak to Professor Durrant?"

"He's still at his lecture. May I pass on a message to him?"

"This would be nice. Perhaps he may call me back later on? My number is…."

"I've taken down your number, Miss Argyle and will tell him. It should not be long; he is supposed to be back in about half an hour."

Relieved, Hester put down the receiver. She had looked forward to hearing his voice, but still she didn't know what to say. Perhaps later on, when he called back, the tension would abate and the words would come naturally.

Three hours later she realised that he would not call back. Even if something had come up, he should have gotten her message by now: Philip didn't _want_ to call. He was not interested in her; it had only been an imagination on her part. The day when she had given him the cigarette case - she had been so sure that he had feelings for her. Now he was divorced, was free, but obviously, he had not the slightest intention to speak to her, not even the courtesy to thank her for saving his life. She had been wrong about him and had made a fool of herself.

Philip laid the books on his desk. "Any messages, Beatrice?"

"Nothing, Professor, it was rather quiet today."

He smiled at his secretary and drew a deep breath. "Beatrice, do you already have plans for tonight?"

During the following weeks they spent much time with each other, a visit to the theatre or a museum, a lunch at a little restaurant. Beatrice got impatient; it was good that Philip was not a daredevil, but he had not kissed her once or touched her in a more than casual way.

Philip looked at the young good-looking woman across the table. He knew that she cared for him. Probably, she was the ideal woman. He cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously: "Beatrice, there is something I'd like you to know…"


	12. Chapter 12

What if …? 12

Philip cleared his throat again and Beatrice saw how nervous he was. Encouragingly she smiled at him. "Beatrice, I have enjoyed these past weekends with you tremendously and you are a young woman, who…" He stopped and began anew. "I think it was unfair to… you didn't deserve… I really like you, but…" Philip didn't have to go on; Beatrice understood. This was not a man, who had fallen in love and simply didn't know how to phrase a declaration of love. Yes, he liked her, but it was not love and would never be. She stared into space, saw his lips moving, but his words didn't really reach her. She blinked. "….didn't want to hurt you and I hope you can forgive me."

Now he was begging _her_ forgiveness. If he knew what she had done! Beatrice shook her head. "No, of course I know that you didn't want to hurt me. Don't blame yourself. We like each other as friends and that's it."

Despite Beatrice's words Philip didn't deceive himself; he knew that she was disappointed. An awkward silence spread between them and finally both of them gave up playing act, and Philip walked Beatrice home.

What had he done? When he had invited Beatrice, he had been convinced that there would be friendship and probably more. Now, he had realised that he was not able to develop feelings for her and that he had put her in an awkward situation. What if she was falling in love with him? How would she manage working for him without feeling miserable? If only Hester had… But she had made it clear what she thought of him. He had not even deserved an answer.

Mad about himself and the rest of the world Philip returned home. He flung his coat on the armchair beside the desk and went over to the sideboard to pour himself a whisky. In the midst of the movement he stopped. He had fallen into the same pattern as before when he had been paraplegic. He had reacted with anger and self pity, drinking too much to forget his whole situation. No, he would not do that again; he would relish in every moment of the new life he had been given. He had got a second chance; Mary was alive, he was able to walk and he had been able to prevent Kirsten from committing a murder. Back then, when he had woken in his bedroom, realising that he could walk again, he had been to happy and grateful; he was not about now to revert to his old habit - no more wallowing in self-pity, no more drowning his grief in alcohol, no more what-ifs..

Probably there would always be times when he would yearn for Hester, but he would not allow her to affect his whole life. Matt had warned him not to bury himself in his work, but he realised now that he had. Philip drew a deep breath and put his glass away; he wouldn't need it tonight.

Tears flooded Beatrice's eyes, when she had closed the door behind her. What had she done! She had been so convinced that Philip would fall in love with her, and that he would forget the other woman; now she realised that she had made him miserable. She couldn't tell him that she had torn the letter to Hester Argyle and had not told him about her telephone call; no, this was not possible. He would lose any respect he had for her and he would be right. Perhaps, Beatrice thought, it wasn't that bad, perhaps Hester Argyle and Philip wouldn't have become a couple after all. The telephone call could have meant anything. She had never called before and Philip had written something about animosity in his letter. Beatrice wiped the tears away, but it was futile. She knew that she was fooling herself, but she also knew that she didn't have the courage to tell Philip the truth.

When she entered the office the next morning, everything seemed to be in order. The working atmosphere was normal and Philip was smiling at her, although… She couldn't put her finger on it, but somehow he had changed overnight. He was more cheerful than usual and had even joined some colleagues for an evening out at a club, something he had never done before.

Weeks went by and after a while Philip relaxed. Yes, everything was alright. Probably he had been wrong about Beatrice's feelings for him; he had been pleasant company but not more. Philip was relieved and didn't notice her glances, which would have shown him how wrong he was.

He had not forgotten Hester and he'd probably never forget her. He knew now that he would not begin a new relationship without being really in love. He had married Mary although he should have realised that they didn't match and he also knew that her fortune had made a difference. It had been as simple as that; he had been tempted by her fortune and her pretty face and if anyone was to blame, it was he. He would not make such a mistake again, but life could be beautiful even without a woman to love, couldn't it?

There was only one thing that almost frightened him. As if he had suddenly awoken from a dream, he noticed the female students' glances and ….fled. It was strenuous to be the object of this many crushes.


	13. Chapter 13

Philip Durrant 13

Curious, Hester opened her father's letter. She had a bad conscience; probably he had tried to call her several times and had not reached her, if he decided to write. The study demanded time and energy and was a means to not think of Philip. Nevertheless she should have remained in contact with her father. It had only seemed easier to concentrate on her study and to try to forget everything that reminded her of Philip.

It was odd; she had never even had a relationship with Philip. Everything had been wishful thinking. She had touched him a few times and the one opportunity had been when he had been unconscious and near death. Perhaps this was the reason why she could not forget him; touching him had made her dream and in reality the man was not as amiable as in her imagination. He had not even called her back.

Hester blinked and despite herself she smiled. Philip – time and time again, although there were plenty of other nice young men. On the other hand Hester knew that she didn't want a relationship right now and being single made it easier to concentrate on her studies anyway. Why hadn't she fallen in love with a man like Steve Pritchet? He was tall, blond and good looking. Steve was a games master on the campus and he was fun; he liked to laugh without being superficial – and he was her best friend's boyfriend. Hester was happy for Ella; she and Steve made a wonderful couple and scarce enough she had seen the love shine out of a man's eyes like Steve's.

Hester unfolded the sheet of paper: Her father would marry Gwenda – how wonderful! Hester had always liked Gwenda and she did not begrudge them their love. From her father Gwenda would get the appreciation Rachel had denied her. Some would gossip about the marriage being too soon after Rachel Argyle's death, but Hester knew that there would always be people, who would badmouth her father and Gwenda for getting married at any rate.

Father had tried several times to reach Hester to tell her the good news but in vain. The wedding would be in two weeks time. He asked her to come some days earlier and had added a guest list. Hester swallowed when she read Philip's name and her heart was beating faster. He had made it plain enough that she was not important to him; she would pretend that nothing had happened and that she didn't mind him not calling her back.

An invitation to the wedding… Leo had insisted. Despite the divorce from Mary he considered him still part of the family and Gwenda shared his point of view. Mary would be there with her new fiancé and if he didn't mind… He would be very glad if Philip came, Leo had added and finally Philip had agreed. The fact that he would see Mary didn't bother him but Hester, of course she would be there, too. Leo had told him that she would come alone and that there was no man in her life.

It had been a moving marriage ceremony, Leo's and Gwenda's joy obvious. In the church Philip had succeeded in avoiding Hester, but now that he was looking for his place at the table, he noticed that they had seated him vis-à-vis Hester. A gentle hand touched his shoulder and, turning around, he glanced into Gwenda's smiling face. "I know that you didn't have time to talk to Hester since the incident with Jacko," she whispered in his ear and disappeared again.

Sipping his aperitif, Philip was making small talk with Mickey when Hester entered the room. A green silk dress caressed her delicate curves; never had she been more beautiful and he could not avert his eyes. Mickey watched him, surprised, and frowned.

As soon as she saw him standing at the other end of the room, she realised how foosish she had been thinking she could forget him, his good looks, his smile. He was more than handsome in his dinner jacket and the walking stick he leaned on didn't do his appearance any harm. Why was he staring at her? It looked less like bad conscience but more like… _Wishful thinking again, Hester_, she chastised herself. _You'll never learn, will you?_ She composed herself quickly enough and headed towards Philip. She would not act coyly but would pretend that nothing had happened. _Let's get it over with!_ A little small talk and then she avoid him without appearing rude. She took a deep breath. "Hello, Philip… You are looking good…" Why was it that her brain seemed to malfunction every time she met this man! _You are looking good…_Why didn't she ever come up with an intelligent remark?

Philip seemed embarrassed and well he should be, and after an awkward pause he smiled at her brittly. "Hester…" He didn't say more, and soon afterwards dinner was served. Philip remained monosyllabic. They ate in silence while the others around them were chatting happily.

Philip pushed his plate away and hesitated for a second, before he took his cigarette case out of his pocket. "You still have it?" Hester blurted out.

„Of course!" Philip nodded, surprised. „It saved my life – _you _saved my life… I would have liked to thank you personally."

"And why didn't you?" Hester replied and Philip meant to hear barely suppressed anger in her voice.

"But it was _you_, who…."

"Hello, Philip, there's something I have meant to tell you… It is really so fascinating…" Philip had never liked Mickey's kind of behaviour to simply barge into a discussion, but now it gave him the opportunity to leave before saying things he certainly would regret later on. He would have given her a piece of his mind for sure and would have ruined the wedding. She's got nerves! Like a silly school boy she had stood him up and now she was playing the ingénue. Brusquely he pushed his chair back. "You don't mind, Hester," he said gruffly and rose.

As he should have expected, Mickey's fascinating news turned out to be blabber about his new car and Philip only listened monaural. From the corner of his eyes he watched Hester, who was still staring after him. _She_ was angry; _she_ was angry with _him_? During the following hours he avoided talking to her – it wouldn't do any good. Finally, the wedding party was over and with a curt nod and greeting towards Hester and much warmer ones towards the other guests, Philip bid his farewell. He noticed her angry, no, rather hurt expression and felt his own adrenalin level rise. Lost in his anger, he pulled on his coat and scarf and blinked when he realised that she must have followed him – she was glaring at him!

This was the final straw. "You could have told me that you didn't intend to come!" Philip snapped, turned around and left without looking at Hester any more.

Still furious, Philip unlocked his door. Did he never learn? He hung the scarf on the clothing hook and involuntarily put his hand in the pocket of his coat, touching the small poems book he nearly always carried with him. Everything had begun with this little book, but now it seemed as if he had arrived where, no, when he was meant to be. It had been a long time since something had happened. He put the booklet on the dresser in the hallway, his fingers caressing the worn out leather binding tenderly.

From behind two arms entwined around him. "I love you, Philip." Philip froze – Hester! He turned around and looked into her mischievous face. He blinked, but she was real and not a figment of his imagination. How had she come here so quickly and what had happened that she had changed her mind about him? The anger and coldness he had meant to see in her gaze and whole demeanour, – had he only imagined this?

The bafflement must have shown in his face and Hester's gaze wavered. "Aren't you happy to see me? I wanted to surprise you."

"But I am, Hester, I am," Philip replied softly. "Oh yes!" When she nestled in his arms, he felt her soft form under the blouse and skirt. Only shortly he wondered why she had changed from the wonderful dress she had worn at the wedding. Her lips were warm and soft and her skin was like a baby's. His lips found hers, he kissed her tenderly and she moaned at his touch, when he stroked her hair and neck. "You don't know how much I've longed for you," Philip murmured hoarsely. "My brain refuses to work when I'm with you," he laughed then. "How did you get here so fast?" He held her against his body and from her reaction he noticed that she well knew what she was doing to him.

"I had no lecture and day…but where have _you_ been?"

_Lecture?_ Bewildered, Philip blinked. They had attended the wedding together, so why was she…? Suddenly he felt as if an icy hand had touched him and he saw what was wrong. He didn't know much about make up or hairdo, but nevertheless there could be no mistaking that she looked different. She could not have come from the wedding; not only that she wore a casual dress – she could have changed - , but her hair style was completely different. What…what had happened? This was not the past; this must be the future or at least a possible version of the future. It was not too late!

"Are you unwell, Philip?" his future-Hester asked.

"I am, Hester, I am," he murmured, feeling her soft form against his body. Right now he didn't care that this was not reality. If this was only a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

"I'm so glad," Hester whispered. "I've fallen in love with you the first time Mary brought you home and have never envied someone the way I envied her. I had always been content with my looks, but at that very moment I wanted to be as beautiful as Mary. And now, I'm here with you and it is like a dream. Just another month and we will be married."

Philip swallowed. Everything he had hoped for could become true.

"I've got a surprise for you, Philip. You said that you didn't want a big wedding tour, but I thought… you will like it, I promise." She stepped into the study.

Philip smiled. "Wait!" he said. "I'll just put my coat on the hook." In the pocket of his coat he felt the little chapbook and put it into his suit…a suit, not the dinner jacket he had worn at the wedding… of course, he should have noticed it before. He smiled again and entered the study.

Where was Hester? She had spoken about a surprise, but she wouldn't play hide and seek, would she? "Hester?" – Nothing, everything remained silent, he was alone. It took him several moments and then he understood. The book of poetry… Philip groaned; he should have known. Everything he had experienced was connected with this little book. He had known and he had been careless. Philip sighed and drew several deep breaths, but then his mien cleared. She reciprocated his feelings, she loved him and she had told him that they would be married. He would call her, no, better visit her. When she saw him face to face, he would not take no for an answer. For the following two days, he had not a minute of leisure time, but then….

He was still in a good mood when he returned to university on Monday. Oddly enough, Beatrice was not at her place; usually, she was much earlier than he was. Philip was already busy at his desk, when he heard the sound of the outer door of his office. A short time later Beatrice entered his office and Philip noticed at once that something was wrong.

"What is it, Beatrice?" he asked, concerned and got to his feet, but Beatrice took a step back. Philip, I have… I have done something you won't be able to forgive me for and I don't understand how I could… I cannot…" She laid a sheet of paper on his desk. "I see not other possibility than to resign." Glancing into Philip's uncomprehending face, she continued. "I thought that you and I… and then… Your letter to Hester Argyle never reached the post office… Please forgive me." Tears were in her eyes and she fled the room. Philip stared after her, stunned.


	14. Chapter 14

**The end might be a bit sappy, but I hope you don't mind. Let me know whether you liked the story.  
**

What if?14

She had not stood him up; she simply had not received the letter…While he was still standing there, Beatrice's words slowly sinking in, Philip realised why he had been so puzzled by the future Hester telling him she had always been in love with him. She had waited for him to contact her and probably she had been very hurt that he presumably had not bothered to visit her, although he owed her his life. And Beatrice… She felt far more for him than she had admitted. Philip knew that his behaviour had reinforced her hopes for a relationship. She was a nice young woman who might one day find somebody to love her. He almost felt sorry for her, and right now the joy he felt that everything might turn out right was stronger.

A brief knock on the door announced Ella, who burst into the room, her face beaming. "Hester, I need to tell… Hey, sweetie, are you all right? You look miserable. I thought you'd be happy that your father married again." Ella gave her friend a worried look. Hester was pale and silent; adjectives Ella had so far never associated with her friend. When Ella continued to watch her enquiringly, Hester drew a deep breath. "Maybe it's time I finally talk about it. I've never told anyone…" Ella sat down and Hester continued. „Everyone knows about my mother's murder and that Jacko shot my brother-in-law Philip, it was all over the papers. But hardly anyone knows that it was me who found Philip. It was… I had given him a cigarette case for a present and… it stopped the bullet; otherwise, he wouldn't have survived. He'd lost a lot of blood and been in a coma for a long time. His leg has remained stiff and he spent a lot of time in hospital. I hadn't seen him since, but I thought he'd contact me at some point… When _I_ finally called at the university… He didn't even call back. And now I saw him at my father's wedding, and he's got the guts to pretend that _he's_ got every right to be mad at _me_! When I was finally sick of his behaviour and demanded that he tell me the truth, he mumbled some garbage and just left."

She hesitated and Ella looked at her pensively. "You left out the most important part, didn't you, Hester? You love him." Ella hugged her friend. "Does he know about your feelings?"

"I don't think so", Hester answered slowly. „I fell in love with him the first time Mary brought him to our parents' house, but from the beginning I pretended not to like him. It was nothing but self-protection 'cause I have always been afraid that someone would notice. Dad asked me more than once if I couldn't make an effort to be nicer to him. The two like each other. I think I've fooled them all. I have always avoided him; just once, when I knew I just _had_ to go to college I asked him for help and that was when I bought him the cigarette case to say thank you. When I gave it to him, he looked at me strangely and for a moment I thought… but I must have been seeing things…" She shook her head. "It was very hard on me to see him like this. You've never met him. I mean, you've got Steven, but if you had only looked into his eyes once... I am not making sense." Hester bit her lip. „It would be best if we just stopped talking about it."

"I'm pretty sure you're wrong, Hester", Ella replied. "He knows he owes you his life. Maybe it was all a bad misunderstanding, especially because he reacted so strangely at the wedding. Why don't you call him? By the way, you're absolutely right." She grinned again. "I do have my Steven. Still, your Philip must be quite a guy, the way you rave about him. Surely you've got a picture of him…?"

"He is not _my_ Philip", Hester replied defiantly. "But yes, I have a picture, and I will show it to you, if only to get you to shut up. I know you mean well, but…"

The photo had been taken at a family reunion once and was pretty wrinkled by now. Ella observed how carefully and tenderly Hester touched the picture and took it from her, shaking her head. "I think you're lying to yourself. You have to clear things up; otherwise you'll never get over him. I know you well enough by now. – Wow, he is _eye candy_, yum… But does he ever smile? It would make him even sweeter…"

"Stop it, Ella. He rarely laughs", Hester answered, „but when he does, then you'd..." She blushed and broke off. "Wasn't there something you wanted to tell me? The way you burst into the room earlier… What's up?"

Ella felt that Hester did not wish to go on about Philip and thus did not pry any further. "Yes, there is something I want to tell you. Will you come with me to the little café on campus?"

Maybe he should have called first. Surely Hester had no lectures but she was not in her room either, for nobody opened the door at his knock. Philip was just turning away, disappointed, when a young woman accosted him at the stairs. "You wanted to see Hester Argyle? You've just missed her; she went over to the café."

Philip felt his heart race as he approached the café. He had expected to be able to talk to her alone. _Damn, he felt like a little schoolboy declaring himself to the love of his life, and not like a professor! _At the same time he was glad that he knew he could feel this way.

He opened the door and entered. The café was rather crowded, so it took a while until he spotted her at a little table at the far end of the room.

It was always difficult to get a table in all that teeming humanity, but Steven was already waiting for Ella and Hester. As always, he gave Hester a friendly smile, but when he looked at Ella, Hester sharply felt anew how she longed for love such as this. Shortly after that, the waitress put down tea and scones in front of them and Hester looked at her friend expectantly.

You were absolutely right", Ella beamed. "I wanted to tell you something important. Steven, would you like…?"

"Ella and I are going to get married, and pretty soon. We have no reason to put it off 'cause we are certain…" He looked tenderly at Ella and continued, turning to Hester: "Hester, we wanted to ask you if you'd like to be our maid of honour."

"With all my heart", Hester replied in a choked voice. "I am so happy for you." She had expected this for a long time, and she knew it was right. Deeply touched, she blinked and felt her eyes fill with tears. "Now don't think that the thought of you marrying brings me to tears; it's just that I'm so happy for you."

Ella swallowed. She know how hard it had to be on her friend to see two people happily in love while this love seemed lost to her. But Hester had never begrudged her friend anything and Ella knew that she was indeed truly happy for them. She felt tears well up in her own eyes and got to her feet quickly. "I'll be right back." And she left towards the ladies' room. Just what they needed, two crying women here at the café!

Steven and Hester remained at the table. "Have you set a date yet?" Hester asked and Steven nodded. "It'll be just a small ceremony as neither of us has much family. My parents are both dead. It'll be three months from today.

Hester smiled at Steven. "I meant what I said. Ella could not wish for a better husband, and I know you'll both be happy."

"Thanks", Steven smiled and squeezed her hand.

That was when Philip froze at the door of the café for he had just seen Hester smile happily at the man seated with her at the table. He was squeezing her hand, and Philip knew that he had come too late. Hester had found another man. Numbly he stared over at both of them. The Hester who had told him that she loved him had not been from the future; she had merely showed him what _might have been_. It was impossible to interpret this any other way than he had, and he berated himself that he should have known. The sad and brutal truth was that rich heiresses did not get involved with crippled professors. Without another word he left the café.

As Ella was emerging from the bathroom, her eyes fell upon a handsome man standing by the door, leaning on a cane and staring blankly into the room. Wasn't that… Ella traced his look and, right, he was looking right at Steven and Hester's table. But he didn't come any closer; he turned abruptly and left!

When Ella returned to the table, Hester could read in her face at once that something was wrong. "Hester, tell me, did you see the man who was just standing by the door?" When Hester shook her head no, she went on: "You showed me the photograph earlier but I'm not quite sure. Does Philip have dark, wavy hear, fair eyes and didn't you say that his leg has remained stiff?2 Hester withdrew the picture from her purse while Steven was staring at them blankly. "Steven, I'll explain everything later", Ella smiled and looked closely at the photo Hester had given her. "That was definitely him, Hester, he was here just a minute ago, watching you. I bet had come to see you."

"So why did he leave then? You must be wrong, Ella, that wasn't him."

"He left", declared Ella triumphantly after a while, "because when he came in, he saw the same thing I saw what I saw – a man and a woman smiling at each other. He just didn't know was really going on. Hester, it was your Philip, I am dead sure, and what I am also dead sure of: He was jealous! You should have seen the look on his face. I didn't understand at first, but now it all makes sense."

Hester was thunderstruck. Ella was right, she had to see Philip. "Would you drive me, Steven?" she asked.

"I still don't know what this is all about", Ella's fiancé answered, "but of course I'll drive you."

Only two hours later they had reached Philip's house, but nothing happened on Hester's ringing the doorbell. Maybe he had gone somewhere else. What was she supposed to do? Leave, and risk once more that she would not see him and fail to clear up another misunderstanding? She decided to wait; there was a small bench in the garden where she could sit, and her coat would protect her from the chill. Plus, Ella and Steven had a blanket in their car. Yes, she would wait. "Could you do me a favour?" Hester asked the couple. „I'd like to wait for him; maybe you could... there's a small guesthouse in the town centre, and if you could… you could pick me up before it gets dark. That will give me three hours. If he isn't back until then..."

Shortly after that, Ella and Steven drove down the street to the centre of the small town. Hester sat down and huddled into the folds of the blanket. Winter was gone and spring had sent her first messengers, small blue and yellow buds peeking out of the dark earth. The air felt wonderfully fresh as did the smell of the soil, but the sun had not fully recovered her strength yet, and Hester slowly felt her toes go numb.

I can't go back into the house! Philip was not a person to yell out in frustration. Matt had told him more than once that he talked way too little about his own feelings, but Philip felt he couldn't change that. Standing by the small cliff close to his house and staring down on the woods and the narrow river, the shrubs and meadows did more to soothe his wounds. Seeing these things reminded him anew how much he had and how grateful he could be. Only a few months ago he had been a man in a wheelchair rolling smoothly on the path to death by alcoholism. Philip took a deep breath. It was time to finally say goodbye to the dreams he was still nursing. He would burn the book of poems. Only half an hour remained until the sun would set, so Philip decided to go home at least.

It was not worth waiting any longer. Philip did not seem to be coming home any more tonight, or maybe Ella had been mistaken after all. Still, she had been so sure! Hester got up and walked along the little path to the front of the house. Surely Steve and Ella would arrive soon anyway. There, a car drew up, that had to be them. – No, it was Philip's car, he _had_ come back!

Hester? What was Hester doing here? There she was, wrapped in a blanked and probably for some time now as he had not heard or seen hear drive up… Philip turned off the ignition and get out of the car while Hester drew closer. He saw at once how she shivered in the cold. "Come into the house, quickly", he told her and unlocked the door.

He led her into the small living-room where he put a few logs into the fireplace while she was sitting down on the sofa. So far she had not uttered a single word. The flames soon flickered although it would take a while for the room to heat up. Hester still had not extracted herself from her blanket and coat, but slowly her face was gaining colour. Philip added another log and finally turned to face Hester.

Without preamble, she blurted out: "Were you at the café this afternoon?"

"Yes, I was", he replied slowly. "But I would have disturbed you. I suppose congratulations are in order?"

Ella was right! He was jealous! Philip's lips had turned into a straight line and his voice had gone flat. Hester stared at Philip intently and went on: "They _would_ if you knew the bride – my best friend Ella."

It took Philip several seconds to grasp what Hester was saying. Not her, but her friend… He swallowed. "You're not… you don't have a... boyfriend?"

„No, I don't have a boyfriend..."

"Hester", Philip said hoarsely and drew closer. Slowly she rose and let the blanked slide off her shoulders. He was standing in front of her, looking at her, straight into her eyes. "Don't you want…?" But before he could finish, she started to unbutton her coat until it, too, fell to the floor. "Philip!" Hot tears sprang to Hester's eyes and rolled down her still chilly cheeks. Philip traced them gently with the tips of his fingers. He took Hester into his arms and deeply inhaled the scent of her hair. "Hester, you have no idea how I've longed to hold you in my arms. I had written you a letter, which apparently you never received. I wanted to meet you and thought you did not. Hester! … You're still cold", he whispered, holding here.

"Then give me warmth, Philip, give me warmth." He kissed her, this time feeling her lips in earnest, not just in his visions of the future. Not a possibility but reality, a reality he would never let go of again. The two of them were unaware of the car driving up, waiting for a few minutes and then leaving again, but they would not have cared either that they were clearly visible to Steven and Ella, tightly wrapped around each other in Philip's brightly lit living-room. They were ensconced in their own world. It seemed like an eternity and yet too short when they finally let go of each other. As Philip looked into Hester's eyes, he knew there was no time to be lost.

"Marry me, Hester", he whispered. She nodded and kissed him. Words were unnecessary.


End file.
